


'All of Me'

by Headcanonsandmore, hillnerd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mind Meld, Romance, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 09:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15313017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Headcanonsandmore/pseuds/Headcanonsandmore, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillnerd/pseuds/hillnerd
Summary: Hermione had always known that Ron suffered from self-doubts. However, she had never fully realised the sheer depths of his insecurities; of being the 'least loved'. That is, until a Weasley family pensieve enters the picture. (Includes themes of self-hatred and high levels of angst. Please be warned; do not read if you consider Hermione to be a flawless character)





	'All of Me'

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:   
> 'Harry Potter' and it's affiliated characters are owned by JK Rowling. I do not make profit from writing this fanfiction. 
> 
> (TRIGGER WARNING- this fic contains themes of self-hatred, self-loathing and self-doubt, as well as instances of physical and emotional abuse)

** ‘All of me’ A Romione fanfiction **

‘You want to _what_?’

Hermione pursed her lips. They were sat at the breakfast table; Ron’s hair was sticking up at all angles, and his eyes were tinged with sleepy-dust. Hermione didn’t know what her own hair looked like, but it was probably a nightmare. Not that Ron ever complained. If anything, he liked her hair as messy as possible. Trying not to blush at the memory of the _last time_ Ron had intentionally messed up her hair, Hermione cleared her throat and spoke again.

‘I want to learn Occlumency.’

‘Are you insane?’ Ron gasped. ‘Wait—of course you are—you’re Hermione. But still—’

‘Ron!’

‘You _do_ remember how bad Harry got when he was learning it from Snape, right?’

Hermione bit her lip. Of course she knew— but that had been different. Harry’s Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape hadn’t worked properly because: a) Harry already had angry emotions about the potions master, so he couldn’t clear his mind. And b) Harry didn’t understand why he had to close his mind, or how he could do it.

But this would be different.

‘Ron— it won’t be like that!’ she spat, irritably. ‘I don’t have angry emotions directed at you—’

‘Have you forgotten our entire shared history?’

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend, and continued as if he hadn’t interrupted.

‘We have a great interpersonal relationship compared with Harry and Professor Snape. And, unlike Harry, I know how I need to close my mind off.’

Ron frowned. Hermione could see him inwardly trying to find some fault in her argument. It was one of the things she liked best about him.

He had always been the only person around her who would actually argue back. Growing up, the other children at her primary school had avoided her, calling her ‘bossy’ and ‘annoying’. The students at Hogwarts hadn’t been much better; Lavender and Parvati developed a habit of deliberately shutting themselves out of conversations with her, as if they couldn’t handle how much she was prepared to talk. Even Harry wasn’t great at it. All too often, she saw the look in his eyes saying ‘ _oh here she goes again…_ ’ before just agreeing with her in an effort to stop the argument.

But Ron— he argued back. He didn’t take it for granted that she knew more about a given subject, even though she often did. The youngest Weasley boy wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to do some mental sparring with her. He didn’t find her annoying or bossy. He liked her—no, _loved_ her— just the way she was, argumentative side and all. And she loved him all the more for it.

Eventually, Ron’s brow relaxed.

‘Okay, fine.’

They returned to eating in companionable silence, Ron absentmindedly rubbing a hand against his morning stubble. Hermione remembered back to the first day she seen him with actual stubble— it had been one morning in Grimmauld Place, and she’d thought he’d spilt coffee on his chin. Ron had burst out laughing, and pulled her into a hug, rubbing his chin against the top of her head. Butterflies exploded in Hermione’s stomach at the memory.

Ron gulped down the last of his morning pumpkin juice, and moved his empty bowl and cup over to the sink.

‘We can start some Occlumency practice after we’re up and dressed,’ he said, as he began to pour hot water in the washing-up bowl. ‘Might as well start today, since we’re both off work.’

Hermione grinned. ‘I’d like that.’

Several hours later, Ron had joined Hermione in her study. They would have started sooner, but Hermione had become distracted earlier that morning. Ron had walked out of the shower-room wearing nothing but a small towel and his usual lopsided grin. Needless to say, they had both _thoroughly_ enjoyed the day so far.

After that _wonderful_ morning, Hermione removed all damageable goods from the room, and brought a pensieve out from a cabinet downstairs. The pensieve was a little different to the ones she had seen in the past- it had been given to her as a graduation present from Mrs Weasley. According to the redheaded matriarch, it was based more around emotions that most pensieves, which usually just showcased memories.

‘Hermione, dear,’ Molly had said, as they chatted over mugs of cocoa in the Burrow’s kitchen. ‘It’s a very old pensieve— from Arthur’s grandfather, if you can believe that. Bless him; tinkering with things does seem to run in the family.’

‘How so?’

‘Unlike most pensieves, it’s doesn’t just replay memories. The Weasley’s have always had a strong affinity for emotions. Although I’m sure you’ve already figured _that one_ out.’

Hermione had tried not to giggle. Ron Weasley was a very passionate man, although she decided not to inform Molly about the full extent of her son’s passion. That _particular_ information would be just between Hermione and Ron.

‘In this pensieve,’ Mrs Weasley continued. ‘You can actually feel the emotions of a memory.’

Hermione’s mouth had dropped open in shock.

‘Is that even possible?’

Mrs Weasley smiled knowingly at the bushy-haired witch over the rim of her mug.

‘With the Weasleys, dear, _anything is possible_.’

Back in the present, Hermione brushed her golden-brown hair out of her face, and tried to clear her mind. She was finding it difficult to clear her memories of the past few hours. She didn’t want Ron to get _too far_ inside her head, after all, even if this was just practice. She would never hear the end of it if he found about that thing with the oil and that massage table-

‘Hermione? Are you still with me?’

Ron’s voice brought her back to earth. Hermione coughed, and shook her head, trying to get rid of the blush that was burning on her neck. 

‘Oh, s-sorry,’ Hermione exclaimed, turning her attention to him. ‘What were you saying, Ron?’

‘I was just asking whether or not you’re all ready to go?’

Hermione nodded.

Ron put his wand to his temple, and a long string of translucent glowing memories appeared as he pulled it away. Turning, he deposited the memories into the pensive, which was glinting eerily nearby.

‘Just in case you end up accidentally getting into my mind.’

Hermione chuckled.

‘Ron, there won’t be any chance of that, and besides— don’t I know most of your memories already?’

The tall Weasley gave her a long, thoughtful look.

‘Trust me,’ he said, his blue eyes, for once, unreadable. ‘Those are some things you really don’t want to see from my perspective.’

Hermione frowned. She knew that Ron was just trying to give her peace of mind, but it annoyed her that he was avoiding showing her all his memories.

‘Shall we start, then?’

\----

The practice went reasonably well. Hermione could feel that her resistance to legilimency was getting stronger as, by the time they finished, Ron was having significant trouble getting into her memories.

However, after they had finished, the memories that Ron didn’t want her to see began to weigh on her mind. _What was he keeping hidden?_ _Did he not trust her?_ No, Hermione was sure it wasn’t that. They had been through the war together, and been dating for well over a year now. On top of that, they were also best friends, and had been since their first year at Hogwarts.

Hermione didn’t think it was a matter of trust that was preventing Ron from showing her memories. Knowing Ron, it would likely be things that he wanted to protect her from. As much as she loved him for being so caring, she didn’t want to be mollycoddled. She wasn’t a child, and she needed to know what was so bad that he had to keep it from her.  

‘You did great, ‘Mione.’

Her thoughts were interrupted as Ron placed his arm round her. Hermione could feel the warmth of his skin through her jumper. Her stomach did the usual flutter whenever he called her by that nickname.

‘Thanks,’ Hermione said, nuzzling into his shoulder. Ron’s mouth stretched into an easy smile.

They sat in comfortable silence. Hermione could hear Ron’s heartbeat through his clothes, and it felt good to sit there quietly with just each other for company.

‘I’m going to start dinner now,’ Ron said, removing his hand reluctantly from around Hermione’s shoulders.

‘Right,’ Hermione yawned, stretching her arms above her head. ‘Be down in a minute.’

Ron smiled, pecked her on the cheek, and walked out of the room. Hermione heard his large footsteps grow fainter as he climbed down the staircase towards the kitchen.

Hermione turned her head, and noticed the pensive placed on the table on the far side of the room. It was still full with Ron’s memories. She could make out the occasional glimpse of ginger hair, which could have belonged to any of Ron’s family, as well a few flashes of dark messy hair (clearly, that was Harry); and, outnumbering all the others, a large mess of bushy brown hair. _Her_ hair. Why would Ron have put memories of her into the pensieve? 

She approached cautiously. Was it right of her to look at them? This was an invasion of trust. And, despite the many bad things Hermione had done in the past, she couldn’t betray Ron’s trust.

However, before she could move away, her feet slipped on the floorboards, and she was sent flying forwards. Her hands gesticulating wildly as she fought to keep her balance, Hermione could only look on in horror as the pensieve grew larger and larger as she fell.

And suddenly, Hermione Granger’s mind was filled with memories that were not her own.

Hermione saw a young boy being ignored by his mother as she sewed Ginny’s first dress. But that was okay, he was older- he didn’t need too much attention. And Ginny did need to have her dress properly made. It wasn’t like she could just wear baggy hand-me-down jeans like Ron had. No, it was okay. After all, his mother still loved him. So what if he didn’t have so much of her attention as everyone else- _he’d be fine…_

The memories changed. Ron was a little older this time, but he was still a young boy. He couldn’t have been older than three. 

Ron was sat on the floor of his room, cuddling a small, slightly ragged-looking teddy-bear. Hermione normally would have smiled at how adorable he looked, but she could feel the tension lingering in the memory. Something horrible was about to happen.

The door of Ron’s tidy bedroom swung open, and ricocheting off the wall with a crash. Fred, his face livid with anger, marched through; a broken toy broomstick in his hand. His twin followed, looking concerned.

‘Care to explain this?’ Fred growled, shaking the splintered piece in front of Ron’s face as he did so. ‘You really didn’t think I’d notice?’

‘Fred!’ George exclaimed, putting himself in between his twin and their younger brother. ‘He’s just a kid- he didn’t mean it!’

‘My toy broomstick!’ Fred yelled at Ron, ignoring his twin. ‘I don’t care if he is just a kid- I won’t get another broom for ages!’

Ron clutched the bear closer to his chest, his small fingers getting lost in what sparse fur was left on his well-worn toy.

The back of Fred’s neck was rapidly turning red, as he glared down at Ron. He clenched the broken toy broomstick in his hand, and his eyes seemed to flash with lightning.  

George opened his mouth to argue with his twin, but his voice was cut off by a scream from Ron.

Transfixed with horror, Hermione and George turned as one.

Ron was screaming at the top of his lungs, his eyes wide with fear. His well-loved, tattered, but cuddly teddy-bear was no longer a teddy bear.

It was an enormous spider. The same size as Ron. It was hairy, with several horrible unblinking eyes, and eight legs that seemed to close around the small boy. Pushing at him, clawing at him, and the pincers beginning to move towards his neck.

‘No!’

George bounded forward, grabbing two of the enormous legs and trying to pull the hideous creature away from his young brother.

Fred had gone strangely pale, the toy broomstick falling out of his hand. His eyes were wide with shock. But he didn’t move.

As George continued to wrestle with the legs, Ron’s eyes started to fill with tears. _What had he done wrong?_ Yes, he had broken Fred’s broomstick, but it had been an accident. He would never have wanted to break anything of his brothers’. He just wanted to fly like everyone-else could.

Why wasn’t Fred helping George? Helping _him_? Did he not care? Did he not care about Ron? No, that was absurd. Of course he cared; Ron was his brother after all. He was just angry at Ron for breaking his toy. Ron had broken Fred’s toy, so Fred had broken Ron’s toy. This was just his way of making things even. After all, it wasn’t fair that Ron had a toy he loved, when Fred didn’t.

Hermione felt her gut squirm with guilt. She remembered Ron telling her about this when they were at Hogwarts, but to her it had always seemed very humorous. _Tall, gangling Ron Weasley- afraid of a little spider?_ But now, it seemed anything _but_ funny.

However, before Hermione could process all of this, the pensieve swirled around her, and the genesis of Ron’s arachnophobia vanished before her.

The room had changed, but Ron was older this time. Hermione guessed that he must have been at least seven years old.

Ron pushed his second-hand helmet (one that Charlie used for training), and walked towards his bedroom door.  He remembered watching Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George all learning from their father, and now it was finally his turn. It was something of a special tradition within the family. Despite being so busy with work, their dad would always teach them how to fly when they got old enough. And it was a personal thing- a special memory that they all had with their family, where they had his undivided attention. Ron had been looking forward to it for years. He had spent the previous night barely able to sleep from sheer excitement.

‘I’m sorry, Molly dear, but I’ve got to go in to work.’ His father’s voice could be heard from several floors below. ‘Something’s come up.’

‘Oh, really, Arthur!’ came his mother’s voice. ‘This is very short notice! Besides, didn’t you promise Ron something? A game of wizard chess, was it? —’

‘His flying lesson,’ — there was a sound of his father slapping his hand to his forehead — ‘he’s been looking forward to it for ages.’

‘I’m sure he’ll understand that you’re too busy. Ask Charlie to show him.’

‘But I taught all his brothers —’

‘Arthur, you’re going to be late at this rate!’ Ron’s mother appeared to be shooing her husband over to the door. ‘Don’t worry about Ron — I’ll get Charlie to teach him- I’m sure he won’t mind the bother —’

Ron walked back to his bed, untying the helmet strap and setting it down on the duvet. _Was he really just a bother_? No, of course not. His mother didn’t mean it like that. Of course his father couldn’t help being busy at work — that could have happened with any of the others. It just so happened that Ron wouldn’t be taught by his dad. And it wasn’t like he was getting a bad instructor in return —Charlie was brilliant at flying. This was fine. This was exciting; he’d be the one who got taught by his brother rather than his father. None of the others could say that — _they’d_ all been taught by their father. He had been looking forward for that undivided attention from his dad, but this was fine. It wasn’t like he was a bother… _Was he_?

Hermione saw Ron staring down at his second-hand threadbare robes and the bulge in his pocket that was Scabbers, as Percy paraded around the kitchen in his new robes, his new owl Hermes sat on his shoulder. But Percy was a prefect, so of course he had to have new robes _and_ a new pet. It wasn’t like Ron should complain about his own robes, wand and pet- _money was tight, after all…_

Ron groaning on the Hogwarts Express as he opened his sandwiches to find corned beef again, despite asking his mother if he could have anything else. Surely, it wouldn’t have been difficult to give him cheese like she had done for George. But there was probably a good reason for that. Maybe they were getting low on cheese. And besides, it wasn’t as if he could last the day on no food at all. Corned beef was better than an empty stomach. _This was okay, this was fine…_

Ginny being delighted with her new wand, and Ron was looking down at his own second-hand wand, a look of barely-disguised pain on his face. He was the only one of his siblings without a wand to call his own. Sure, it was nice of Charlie to give him his old one, but it wasn’t the same. And now Ginny would be starting Hogwarts with her own wand. Ron wanted the best for his sister, but he couldn’t help but feel a huge surge of jealousy towards Ginny as he looked down at his battered old wand with the unicorn hair sticking out the end. _But money was tight- he couldn’t complain…_

Hermione saw herself trying not to laugh as Ron admitted his arachnophobia, and Ron’s face covered in shame and discomfort. No doubt she thought he was an idiot for fearing spiders. Well, he was used to that with Hermione. _He wouldn’t be surprised if she thought he had trouble tying his shoelaces…_

Ron staring jealously over at Fred and George in their second-hand-but-still-decent dress robes, his own maroon robes looking more like a dress than ever. Out of all of them, why did he have to have the maroon robes that barely fitted? Couldn’t Percy have lent him one of his old dress-robes, like Charlie had done with the twins? He would have given anything to have just normal dress robes, like Harry had. Nothing too fancy, of course, but anything would have been better than this. Just once, he’d like to not be the sap wearing ill-fitting robes that clashed with his hair.

She saw Viktor Krum, resplendent in his dress robes, and Ron thinking ‘of course she’d go with him- _he’s everything I’m not…_ ’- Talented, older, a Quidditch star…Of course she’d want to go with him. And it was Ron’s fault to begin with for not asking her. Obviously, he already knew she was a girl. He had always known. But she wasn’t like a potential girlfriend. She was his friend, after all. And friends didn’t ask each-other to balls, no matter how much it hurt to see her with someone else. Dancing with someone else. Having fun with someone else. Laughing with someone else. This was fine. Krum was everything he wasn’t. _It was fine._

Ron being shocked that his mother was at Hogwarts. _Was she here to see him?_ No —of course not. She was here for the third task, to wish Harry support. And that was good — Harry needed that. The Dursleys certainly weren’t going to turn up. This was fine. His family was Harry’s too — it had been since they had first met. If he’d been a Triwizard champion, his mother would have turned up to see him. But maybe she would only do that for Harry. After all, he was as good as a son to her. Maybe more like a son than Ron was. But this was fine- Harry needed the support. Ron’s family was Harry’s too. _Even if Ron’s mother treated Harry as more of a son than she did for Ron…  Because she wouldn’t have turned up if Ron was the Triwizard Champion… She probably would have just sent him a howler about ‘keeping yourself out of trouble’…_

The look of disappointment and anger on Ron’s face after Hermione revealed that she and Harry had missed him winning the Quidditch Cup. The time he had finally overcome his insecurities about the sport, and earned glory on the pitch. But the two people he had most wanted to see this were not there. Because his achievements clearly weren’t important. Not to them. Not compared to finding out about Hagrid’s half-brother.

Ron being ignored by Professor Slughorn, as the enormous-bellied Potions master invited Harry and Hermione to his party. Of course, why would Slughorn invite him? Ron wasn’t talented, or famous. He was just another Weasley boy, the spare part, the third wheel. Hermione had her brains, Harry had his fame (unwanted, sure, but fame nonetheless), and what did Ron have? A plethora of freckles, average school marks, and chess skills. And being good at Chess didn’t get you an invitation to Slughorn’s party. Maybe Hermione would find someone more suited to her at the party- someone famous or intelligent, or both. Someone she wouldn’t have to nag to get them to do their transfiguration essay. Someone who didn’t walk around in second-hand robes, third-hand jeans covered in patches, and fourth-hand shoes held together by stretching spells and a lot of hope. Someone whose hair didn’t clash with the hand-knitted maroon jumpers that their mother kept insisting on making them, despite their constant requests for any colour _except_ maroon. Someone who would be worthy of Hermione Jean Granger.

Ron’s stomach turning to acid as Ginny shrieked ‘Hermione snogged Viktor Krum!’- Of course she would. Krum was famous, older, a Quidditch star. How could he ever think Hermione would like him when Viktor Krum had seen she was a girl way earlier? He’d been deluding himself- he was her friend and nothing more. She clearly saw him like that. _She’d kissed Krum, after all…_

Hermione setting the birds on Ron. Ron desperately trying to bat the animals away, as he watched Hermione slam the door. Why had she attacked him? _Why was she so angry?_ She’d never shown any signs that she saw him as anything more than a friend. Well, she had invited him to Slughorn’s party, but that was just as friends. She spent all that time going on about how fanciable Harry was, but hadn’t said anything about Ron. She didn’t even think he was any good at Quidditch — why else would she have assumed his brilliant saves were caused by a luck potion, rather than his own skill? She had clearly invited him to the party out of pity. He had been deluding himself that she could feel anything more for him. And yet, his heart still burned with guilt as he heard her give a gut-wrenching sob as the door slammed shut behind her.

Ron’s mind swirling as he stared at Harry and Hermione whispering in the tent. _Were they_ … Surely not. But then again, he was the third wheel, wasn’t he. The spare part. He wasn’t the hero or the brains — he was the sidekick. Was he really their friend? Why had they kept him around? Were they laughing behind his back? They had a lot to laugh at. _He was just the sidekick, after all. The spare part. The third wheel. The odd one out. The expendable one…_

_Yes, you are_ , hissed a voice inside Ron’s mind as the memories swirled once more, _you always have been…Look at them-talking behind your back…  Do you even care for you? Did you think they liked you? Poor boy, you were deluded…  Obviously, you are little but an amusement to them…  The sidekick…  It’s a wonder they haven’t told you to leave…  Give them more time alone together…  That’s what they want….  To get you out of the picture…  They don’t care…  They want you gone…_

‘Go home, then.’

Harry was glaring at Ron, his voice cold and uncaring. It had all started because Harry didn’t seem to care about Ginny…  She had been in the forbidden forest, and yet Harry (and Hermione) were more concerned with talking about Gryffindor’s sword…  _His_ sister —Ron’s _only_ sister in the world — had been into the forest…  The one with the giant spiders…  But they didn’t seem to care…  ‘The Weasleys don’t need another kid injured’…  Did Harry really want him gone? Ron had wanted to help…  That was his job…  He was Harry’s friend…  His _best_ friend…  He would have gone to the ends of the earth for him…  But Harry didn’t seem to care…

And now Harry was telling him to leave…  _Did he really not care about any of them?_

_Of course he doesn’t,_ a voice in Ron’s head hissed, _he’s Harry Potter…  Why should he care...  After all, it’s not like  he cares about you, is it?_

‘It’s alright for you two, isn’t it’ —Ron’s eyes narrowed —‘with your parents safely out of the way —’

‘MY PARENTS ARE DEAD!’ bellowed Harry, his voice reverberating around the tent.

‘And mine could be going the same way!’

_He doesn’t care_ , the voice hissed again in Ron’s head, _he doesn’t care about your family…  Especially you…._

‘THEN GO!’

_He doesn’t care…  He doesn’t care if you lived or died…  What are you to him but a sidekick?...  A spare part…  The expendable one…  The one no-one would miss, least of all him…_

But maybe _she_ would care. After all, she seemed to care when he almost died from getting poisoned, and she was terrified when he got splinched. She would care, surely.

She could see why Ron was so angry. Harry seemed to have no idea what he was doing. Dumbledore had left him — _them_ —with barely anything with go on. It was all well and good having the horcrux necklace around, but how could they destroy it? And how could they find the rest of the horcruxes? They had spent the past several weeks —it must have been more than a month — stuck in a tent. No new leads. No way to destroy the locket. Nothing.

Hermione would know. She wasn’t some blind follower — she could see how badly things had got. She was intelligent — it was one of the things he liked — _loved_ — about her.

And maybe — just _maybe_ _—_ she felt the same way for him as he felt for her. If there was a time to show that she cared for him, it was now.

Ron’s heart beat heavily against his chest. It was decision time for Hermione: Harry or Ron.

He took a deep harrowing breath.

‘Are you staying, or what?’

Hermione saw Ron turn to the past version of her. She remembered this well, but this time she saw it from Ron’s perspective. She had a choice —come with Ron, or stay with Harry.

‘I….’ she gasped, anguished. ‘Yes- yes, I’m staying. Ron, we said we’d go with Harry…we said we’d help.’

Of course she would stay…  After all, what was he to her…  Just a friend…  He had been kidding himself…  How could he ever compete with Harry…  Ron was just the sidekick after all…

_She didn’t care either…  Of course she didn’t…  She never had…  And now she had proven it…_

The memories swirled again, and Hermione found herself standing in a clearing beside a pool of deep water. Ron and Harry were standing in front of the horcrux, the sword of Godric Gryffindor in Ron’s hand.

Once again, Hermione heard that deep, hissing voice that had pervaded Ron’s thoughts, but this time it spoke as if it _was_ Ron, or was she just imagining that?

_Always overshadowed and least loved, first by the mother who craved a daughter, and then by the girl who preferred his best friend…why should they care about him?_

Hermione looked on in horror as Ron stood, rooted to the spot in front of the horcrux locket, as the distorted doppelgangers of herself and Harry burst forth.

‘You are _nothing_! _Nothing compared to him!_ ’ the Riddle-Hermione crowed at Ron, her eyes malicious and unhinged.

The Riddle-Hermione entwined herself around Riddle-Harry, embracing him tightly. Their lips met.

Hermione saw Ron, face filled with anguish, raise the sword of Gryffindor.  

‘Do it, Ron!’

The real Harry was standing nearby, his eyes wide and intense.  

But, as Hermione watched Ron turn to Harry, weapon raised, she saw a trace of scarlet in the usual blue of the redhead’s eyes — those beautiful, gentle eyes that she loved so much. Her heart stopped in her throat — no, he couldn’t have…    _Had he succumbed to the will of the horcrux?_

 ‘Ron —?’ the real Harry’s words were cut short as he dived out of the way, away from Ron. There was a loud clash of metal on metal that echoed around the clearing, and seemed to reverberate through Hermione’s brain.  

The real Harry whirled around, wand in hand— seemingly to defend himself. But there was no need. Ron had done it; he had destroyed the horcrux. But the Horcrux had mentally tortured him in the process. Making his innermost worst fears flesh-and-blood, personified by the gross distortions of his two best friends, _who didn’t seem to need him, care for him, or even want him around…_

Hermione, tears rolling down her face in shock, watched as Ron dropped the sword and fell to his knees, his body wracked with sobs.

With a dawning sense of horror, the weight of Ron’s memories seemed to crush Hermione down. All that anguish, all that self-loathing and doubt…  All that pain had not come from nowhere. It had been created in Ron’s mind by the actions of those around him…by Ron’s parents, by his siblings, by Harry’s fame, and (most of all) by her.

She had caused this. So much of this mental turmoil that had festered in Ron’s mind for the better part of a decade was her fault. It hadn’t been intentional on her part, but it had happened nonetheless.

She had played with his emotions.

She hadn’t tried to understand his insecurities and self-doubts.

She hadn’t believed that he could succeed, especially not without her.

She hadn’t tried to make it known how amazing she knew he was.

She had mentally and physically hurt him, for so long.

And, as she watched Ron continue to sob in front of her, the shattered locket before him, Hermione felt a stab of self-hatred the likes of which she had never experienced before.

A deep, burning sense of shame, guilt and overwhelming anger at herself and her actions.

He was her best friend —the boy she had been in love with since the age of thirteen —and, yet, she had never realised how badly things had been for him…  How much he had forced below the surface because he _honestly believed_ that he wasn’t anything special, and didn’t deserve attention…  Didn’t deserve respect, or compassion, or _love_ …

After all she had done to him, why did he still love her? _How_ did he still love her?

She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve Ron’s love.

‘Hermione!’

With a gasp, Hermione pulled her head out of the pensieve, wheeled round, and found the real flesh-and-blood Ron stood next to her, his eyes wide and worried.

Falling to her knees, Hermione tangled her hands in her hair as she began to cry. Loud, angry sobs that seemed to escape her mouth as if ripped from her throat.

‘Hermione!’

Ron had dropped to his knees in front of her, and put his hands on her shoulders. Through her watery eyes, Hermione could see his face— concerned, slightly scared and desperate to help.

‘Hey — c’mere,’ he breathed, trying to pull her into his chest for a comforting hug.

‘N-no!’ she wailed, pulling away from him. Her eyes were already growing red and itchy from the tears. The back of her throat burned with a fiery pain, as if holding back a scream.

‘What?’ the redhead asked, his voice fraught with worry. ‘Hermione, why?’

He didn’t understand. Hermione didn’t want Ron to comfort her- she wanted him to yell at her, to scream and to bellow; to let out those intense emotions that she had felt inside his mind. The emotions of jealousy and self-loathing that she had helped create.

‘R-Ron,’ Hermione mumbled, blinking back tears. ‘Please…get angry at me.’

The freckled face grew scared, as if concerned for her sanity.

‘No!’ he exclaimed, his eyes wide and fearful. ‘’Mione, why would you want me to do that?’

Hermione gave a great, shuddering breath.

‘B-because I deserve it.’

Ron’s mouth fell open in shock. As if on instinct, he put his arms around her, and pulled her into a tight hug. Hermione was so mentally drained that she didn’t resist this time.

‘How…how could you think that?’ he breathed into her ear. ‘Hermione, how could you _possibly_ think that you deserve that?’

‘How…how can you possibly think that _I don’t_?’ Hermione wept, her body shaking with emotion. ‘H-how can you not… _h-h-hate_ me after all that? After…after all that pain I caused you? You _must_ hate me!’

‘Hermione —’

‘No, Ron,’ she went on, the words tumbling out of her mouth. ‘You can’t spin this a different way. I…I saw it. _Everything_. All those moments…all that pain…that your parents caused…that Harry caused…that _I_ caused…what we’ve all done to you…how could you not hate all of us — _especially_ me?’ 

‘I don’t think you understand —’

‘But I do understand, Ron!’ Hermione yelled, looking through her tear-stained eyes at his handsome freckled face. ‘You’ve always thought you were no good- the second-best, the least of the Weasleys. And… _I knew that you thought that_ , and I still made things worse for you!’

Agog, Ron’s eyes widened as he watched her. 

‘Ron, when did I ever show you that I actually thought you were good at anything? When did I ever make it known to you that you were never just “another Weasley boy” to me? _Never_!’

‘Hermione, you didn’t have to—’

‘BUT I SHOULD HAVE DONE!’ Hermione screamed, her voice bouncing off the walls of the room. ‘I’m your best friend, Ron — I should have known how low your self-worth was! Y-you spent your entire childhood being passed-over in favour of your siblings! And then you had me and H-Harry overshadowing you at school! And I never realised…  I never realised how _horrible_ that was, and how much you just wanted to be noticed — just _noticed_ — by those around you! But I never did. I just made light of it… “Emotional range of a teaspoon”…  Why did I never realise that-that you probably had more emotional range than _all_ of us...’

Her voice was starting to crack now, as the pain and self-loathing that had exploded in her heart seemed to erupt out through her mouth.

‘Why didn’t I notice….  Why didn’t I notice how badly things were for you? And, yet, you still stayed with me…  All this time…  Even though I never seemed to change or-or the fact that it took me _so long_ to understand how much of an amazing, kind, _wonderful_ person you are…  You still stayed.’

‘Because I love you.’

Hermione looked up at his face. His eyes seemed to be swimming with tears, and his voice was tight, as if holding back a sob.

‘You really shouldn’t,’ she mumbled, voice straining. ‘I don’t deserve it… I don’t deserve _you_.’

‘Do you really think that?’

‘After all that hurt I caused you? I _know_ that.’

Ron loosened his arms around her, so that his face was just in front of hers.

‘We need to go into the pensieve again.’

‘W-what?’ Hermione gasped. ‘No…please, Ron…  Anything but that…  It was bad enough seeing those memories by myself! With you there, I don’t know how I could —’

‘This time will be different.’

Hermione stared up at the redhead, her eyes still burning with tears.

‘How…  How can you be sure?’

Ron smiled.

‘Because this time, you’ll see _all_ of the memories,’ he said, putting his wand to his temple. ‘All of _me_.’

A long sparkling strand of memories appeared, which he dropped into the pensieve. The images swirled around- Hermione could make out Ron’s mother, Harry and Hermione herself amongst the myriad of luminous memories.

Ron grasped Hermione’s hand, and squeezed.

‘Do you still trust me, ’Mione?’

Hermione didn’t even need to think for her response. She had known the answer to that question since that fateful encounter with a mountain troll all those years ago.

‘With all my heart.’

As one, they ducked their heads under the surface of the pensieve.

And suddenly her mind was flooded with memories again. But this time, they were not full of pain and anguish.

Ron’s mother hugging him after he had fallen over, and telling him that ‘it’s okay, Ronnie — I’ve got you’.

Fred helping George to pull the spider off of Ron, and the spider shrinking back into a harmless teddy bear. Fred pulling Ron into a hug and saying how sorry he was. Ron, his eyes still burning with tears, folding tightly onto his brothers’ shoulders as he sobbed. _Fred did care_ …  _George cared_ …  _The twins did care about him…_

Ron’s father ruffling his hair fondly as Ron stared, wide-eyed in wonder, at the Chudley Cannons playing. His father had managed to get the tickets from someone at work. True, the Cannons were one of the least successful teams in the country, but Ron didn’t care. He was out with his dad, spending a few precious hours with his father, and enjoying the match. Ron grinned as his dad lifted him onto his shoulders so he could see better. This was fantastic. Sure, the Cannons would likely lose the match, but it was still a Quidditch match, and he was here with his dad. No siblings interrupting, no mother yelling at him for not tucking in his shirt; just him and his dad.

Ron receiving a letter from his parents about how proud they were of him being sorted into Gryffindor. Ron’s heart swelling with warmth as he re-reads the letter again and again over the next few days. They were _proud_ of him.

Hermione pulling Ron into a hug and, happy tears streaking her face, telling him how brave he was for sacrificing himself on the giant chess board. Ron’s face breaking into a massive smile as his heart pounded warmly against his chest. She thought he was _brave_ …

Ron seeing the look of gratitude on Hermione’s face after he defended her from Malfoy. Ron’s stomach squirming slightly (no doubt from the slugs), but Ron not minding it. Because she was his friend, and he’d defend her no matter what. As much as she didn’t need to thank him, it still felt good to see her looking at him like that.

Hermione hugging Ron after she had been de-petrified. Ron’s stomach churning again as she exclaimed how happy she was that they’d solved it, and the warm feeling enveloped his insides again as he looked down at her. _She was okay…_

Hermione unconsciously putting her hand in Ron’s as they waited for Harry to finish the third task. Ron’s eyes growing wide, and his heart pounding against his chest. What was she doing? Was it possible that she — but she couldn’t, surely? He had blown any and all possibilities with her during that fiasco at the Yule Ball. But here she was — holding his hand. Not Viktor Krum’s hand. _His_. Ron squeezing Hermione’s hand tenderly, and feeling the warm, soft feeling of her skin against his. Hermione squeezing his hand back.

The look of respect and gratitude in Harry’s eye as Ron defended him from Seamus’ accusations at the start of fifth year. Ron feeling a little baffled — of course he would defend his best mate — but still appreciating it nonetheless.

Hermione looking on in pride as Ron conjured his first corporeal patronus, and smiling as the Jack Russell Terrier playfully chased her own otter. Ron smiling modestly, whilst his heart beat frantically against his chest. Why was his patronus chasing Hermione’s? Did that mean something? Were his intentions that obvious? Did she not mind? Was it actually something she was hoping for- no, surely not?  But maybe…just _maybe_ …it was possible she felt the same way he did….

Hermione hugging him tightly after he woke up in the hospital wing, the brain-scars still fresh on his arms. Ron pulling her in close, and never wanting to let go. _She was safe…_

Harry hugging Ron after the locket had been destroyed. The look of respect in those green eyes as he said ‘Saving my life’- Ron pulling Harry closer to him. Holding the person who had become like a brother to him in the seven years they had known each other. They were family. And Ron silently promised that he would never let Harry down again.

Seeing Hermione awaken, battered but alive, at Shell Cottage after her torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Ron sobbing silently as he held her close. She was alive. They weren’t going to lose her. _Ron_ wasn’t going to lose her. She was too important to lose. Ron couldn’t forgive himself if she had…but the thought had been too terrifying to consider. He wouldn’t consider it. Despite all that he had gone through with Hermione — all the heartbreak, all the confusion, all the jealousy, all the pain — he wouldn’t change it for the world. He loved her. That was the simple truth of it. It had always been true, even before he knew it himself. His fate with her had been sealed since the moment they had met, on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago. And he wouldn’t change a moment of it. Not a single one.

Hermione looking on in wonder and pride as Ron came up with the idea to get the basilisk fangs from the Chamber of Secrets. Ron trying to quash the growing feeling of excitement growing inside his stomach. Hermione thought he was _smart?_ Had the world turned upside down? He was Ron Weasley — the average student with a chess fixation, and yet here he was— being looked at by _Hermione Granger_ as if he were some kind of genius. And the weird thing? He didn’t even think it was that impressive of an idea. They needed basilisk fangs — why not get them from the original source? Not a spectacular idea. Quite simple, really. But maybe the simplest ideas were the best. Maybe that’s what he brought to the table. Harry brought the leadership, Hermione brought the brains, but Ron— he brought the common sense. Often estimated, but crucial. The little details that could get over-looked in the wider picture, but vital to the whole process. The everyday things that stop everything else falling apart.

Hermione throwing her arms around Ron’s neck, and kissing him full on the mouth. Ron wrapping his arms around her, and lifting her off her feet as he kissed her back. Ron’s heart roaring in triumphant glorious abandon. All those years of pining, of hope, of despair, of half-glances and hidden smiles. They had all culminated in this moment. The moment that was so utterly perfect, despite the danger and devastation all around them, that Ron would have happily lived in that moment for all eternity. Just him and Hermione, their bodies close and their lips pressed together in pure emotion. The outside world seemed to dissolve into a blur, as he held the girl he had loved since the age of eleven. Together at last.  

Molly Weasley pulling Ron into a tight hug after the battle, sobbing that she was so happy he was okay. Ron hugging her back. He had always felt overlooked and unloved. But that wasn’t the whole truth. He was loved. He felt it as his mother hugged him. He was her son. He might not have always felt it, but she would always love him.

The Weasley family pulling Ron into a massive group-hug. All of them; his mother and father. All but one of his siblings. The sibling who never got back up from the battle. They were grieve, they would mourn, but they would do it as a family. Strong, united in their love for each-other. All of them being each-other’s crutches, and their reasons for carrying on, despite the odds. 

Harry and Hermione both hugging Ron. His two greatest friends- the boy who had become like a brother to him, and the girl who he had fallen in love with. The three of them holding tight, supporting and energising each-other, as they always had done. Somehow, they had overcome the odds, and Ron was so happy that he had them by his side.

Hermione kissing Ron. The second time. The third time. _Every single time_.

Hermione turned to look at Ron, and he squeezed her hand. He gave her his usual lopsided grin, and Hermione understood.

With a great heave, she pulled herself out of the memories. Ron was smiling at her, his blue eyes glinting.

The tears were still running down her face, but they were no longer sad tears—they were tears of joy and happiness.

Ron dipped his wand into the pensieve, and retrieved the memories he had removed, placing them back inside his head.

He then leaned in close. Hermione could see her own face reflected in his blue eyes.  

‘Now do you see why?’ he breathed, making goosebumps erupt all Hermione’s neck. ‘All those bad times…they weren’t the full story. They weren’t my story. They weren’t our story. Do you see why I could never hate you? You; the person who could see more than the bumbling Weasley boy that everyone else saw? You; the person who kept me going through the _darkest of times_? You; my best friend who made me feel _whole_. You; the woman I _loved_ before I even realised it myself? Now do you see why I could _never_ hate you?’

Hermione put her arms around Ron’s neck, her eyes shining with happy tears, and pulled his head forward.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, before pressing her lips to his. ‘I do.’

There may have been a lot of bad things in their past, but they had been outweighed by the good. That was the way life worked. You couldn’t just dwell on the bad times, because the good times made life worth living. For every time Ron had felt overlooked, there had been a time where he felt loved. For every time he felt under-appreciated, there had been times — so many times — where he had felt more appreciated than anyone-else in the world.

Even though his life had contained its fair share of insecurity, fears and pain, Ron Weasley had also encountered so much appreciation, respect and love that it had made his heart glow with warmth. And Hermione now knew that — more so than ever before.

She had seen all of Ron. All his memories, all his emotions. And she knew that he wouldn’t change any of it for the world. Because the good times wouldn’t have felt so good without the bad times being there as well.

Hermione had seen, in Ron’s words, ‘all of him’. And she loved him all the more for it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank so so much for reading! This is my first fanfiction uploaded to AO3, and I'm so happy to be starting on this platform, having started out on Tumblr and then of FFN. If you liked this, please leave kudos and/or a comment.


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